


How to waste a good worry

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is acting weird during their coffee date, much to Derek's confusion. What could be causing Stiles to worry so much that he's avoiding even looking at Derek? (Hint: The answer involves Derek's hands)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to waste a good worry

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  the gif in question  
> 

He shouldn’t ask. Everything in him is muttering, ‘ _Don’t do it Derek. Don’t ask him. Don’t you dare. It’s gonna end up badly. You’re gonna regret this._ ' The tiny bit of common sense that's finally been pounded into him courtesy of life and the past 3 years agrees and tells him to stick to the weekly plan of drinking his coffee and let Stiles ramble on about how college is going.  
  


Except the part where Stiles isn’t talking like he usually is. Which is what’s making Derek nervous and curious in equal parts. Stiles is acting as skittish as a frightened horse on a frozen lake, eyes darting around everywhere instead of staying locked on Derek’s face (a habit that had initially made the older man feel just a bit uncomfortable). It’s different. It’s weird. It’s not  _Stiles_.  
  


‘ _I’m going to regret this._ ' Derek sighs, placing his mug down on the table before he asks. “Okay, what's wrong?”   
  


Stiles starts so violently that some of his coffee sloshes over the rim and over his lap. With a loud curse, Stiles leans forward to grab a few napkins and frantically pats his clothes dry. “Wrong?” He asks, pulling on the hem of his hoodie before dabbing the paper napkin over a wet spot. “Nothing’s wrong! What makes you think something is wrong?”  
  


Does Stiles really think that Derek isn’t observant or doesn’t care? Either way, Derek raises an eyebrow and asks, “You want me to give you the list?” It’s not a long one mind you but he’d rather not state all the ways in which he can tell that his boyfriend of exactly three weeks is acting weird. He  _could_ argue that him being able to tell that something is wrong with Stiles is a result of knowing him for three years but even then, it still highlights how much he’s observed the younger man in the effort to understand him. And Derek wants to avoid that embarrassing revelation (God only knew how long Stiles would hold  _that_ over his head!He  _still_ talked about the pool incident and how many times he's saved Derek's ass! Derek suspects Stiles has a list hidden somewhere.)  
  


The oddly frightened, nervous look that Stiles direct his way invariably reminds Derek of the time Erica had said that Stiles was like Bambi when he wanted to avoid things. At the time, Derek hadn’t understood what she had been talking about but now? He got it. Stiles looked as scared and helpless as a baby deer being told that it’s mother wasn’t coming back. Dear  _God_ _._ What the hell was worrying Stiles to  _this_ extent?  
  


His mind helpfully and cheerfully provides him with a complete laundry list - starting from page 35 and carrying on with all the things that could make Stiles look so scared. Before he realizes it, Derek’s hand is reaching across the table to curl protectively over Stiles’. “What is it?” Derek asks, trying to keep the urgency out of his tone. “Stiles, talk to me. Whatever it is, I can help.”  
  


That, for some weird reason, makes Stiles’ ears go pink. Derek stares at the pink tips before trying to catch the brown eyes that are focusing on their hands. He watches the pink turn dark red as the flush spreads over Stiles’ face.  
  


The voice in his head has gotten to page 70 of his list when Stiles finally groans and drops his head down on top of their hands. “It’s stupid.” He grumbles into the back of Derek’s hand, shaking his head slightly.   
  


Stupid or not, Derek wants to fucking  _know_ already. The urge to rap his knuckles against Stiles’ head is really high but he restrains enough. “Stiles…” He warns, knowing that its more than useless trying to get the man to do something with a threat when he  _knows_ that Derek isn’t actually going to carry it out.  
  


But wonder of wonders, Stiles’ takes in a deep breath and sits up like a shot. His eyes are wide and the blush is travelling down his neck when he blurts out, “I’m nervous about fisting and I don’t think that it’s possible.”  
  


Derek is so,  _so_ glad that he doesn’t have anything in his mouth or else he would have choked on it. Not that his body doesn’t make a valiant attempt to choke on its own spit. “ _What_?” He asks in a low hiss, eyes darting around frantically to check if anyone’s overheard Stiles.   
  


The girls sitting behind Stiles are giving them weird looks but other than that, it looks like no one’s noticed. But that’s enough to make the back of his neck  _burn_ when he levels Stiles with a shocked glare because seriously,  _what the hell?_  Stiles looks appalled with himself, free hand covering his mouth in a way that clearly says that he can’t believe he just said what he he’d said.  
  


Derek takes a deep breath, counts to ten and then backwards before he hisses “ _What_?”. So much for anger management techniques.   
  


For his part, Stiles waves his hand around in an aborted half gesture before he starts to babble in an equally low, twice as nervous voice. “It’s just that I got bored last night and I thought that I’d jerk one off before going to sleep and I was thinking about you and me and how it’d feel like if you would touch and stuff when I thought about you’d feel like in me and then I got curious about preparation and stuff so I went online and-“  
  


Derek honestly stops paying attention at that point because if he had a nickel for every time Stiles has come up to him saying “I was online last night and-” or a variation on the phrase, he’d be able to buy himself a new Camaro. “Stop.” Derek holds up his hand, eyes squeezed shut as he silently begs for mercy. “Say no more, I get the picture.”  
  


He hears Stiles’ mouths clap shut before he exclaims loudly, “You don’t even know what I’m gonna say!”  
  


Derek gives Stiles his best ‘are you shitting me right now?’ glare, which bounces off the injured pout that Stiles is sporting. Damn his life and his inability to deal with that jutting lower lip coupled with the puppy dog eyes.   
  


"But I can guess." Derek retorts easily enough. "You probably found something that scared the crap out of you." Again, nickel, Camaro. It’s happened one time too many and the results have always been the same. And this particular instance has the possibility of being just as embarrassing as the time Stiles had come up to him, hemming and hawing before inquiring if werewolves had knots or not. Derek dearly wants to erase that entire conversation out of his brain.  
  


Stiles ducks his head, shoulders slumping as he mumbles, “Basically.”  In order to stop himself from giving the old lecture on not believing everything that he finds on the Internet (maybe with a good dash of ‘please stop ‘researching’ things too much online’), Derek sighs and scrubs his hand over his face.   
  


The tiny coffee shop carries on like normal - servers puttering around with orders, easy conversations mingling into the soft jazz playing on the speakers, Stiles groaning and lightly smacking his head into the table. “Stop that.” Derek chides, putting their hands underneath Stiles’ forehead. “You’ll spill the coffee.”  
  


That earns him a dark glare. “Nice to see where your priorities lie.” Stiles grumbles. Derek flicks a finger against Stiles’ forehead as gently as possible. “Hey!” The teenager yelps, retaliating immediately by pinching Derek’s hand as hard as he can. “Play nice!”  
  


"Only if you never tell me what the hell you found out about fisting." Derek shoots back, feeling a tiny surge of happiness at the way Stiles’ fingers are tracing tiny circles into his wrist. The evil glint in the teenagers eyes tells him that he’s about to find out anyways.


End file.
